


Nighthawks

by Wolvesandwerewolves



Category: The Umbrella Academy
Genre: Brainwashing, Gen, Kidnapping, Stockholm Syndrome
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-14 22:00:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28927710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolvesandwerewolves/pseuds/Wolvesandwerewolves
Summary: “Five was right,” Ben says. “You do have Stockholm syndrome.”“But I’ve had all my vaccinations!” Klaus cries.——————————————————————-Klaus disappears two weeks after Five does. Years later, he finds his brother in a small diner in the middle of nowhere—surrounded by Commission Agents.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 33





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> listen fam idk what this is yet but uhhh 
> 
> i just want baby Klaus
> 
> and im going to get it 
> 
> ......  
> (again)
> 
> should i be starting a new umbrella academy fiv when i should be working on rockland or exit music? hehe...no 
> 
> here goes nothing!
> 
> (Title inspired by the painting Nighthawks by Edward Hopper, aka the diner with no door bc uhhhh i can’t title my own fics?)

October 1, 2002

Nighthawks Diner.

It’s an old place, and the lighting overhead is always dim, even when it’s so dark outside the road almost disappears in front of him on his walk. Inside, the booths are red and yellow, like ketchup and mustard, and the floor is checkered black and white. There’s neon signs on the walls, and newspaper articles and black and white pictures. Every time he comes here, he orders donuts.

It reminds him of Griddy’s. And of late, late nights like this, when they all used to sneak out together after a successful mission, and they’d eat so many donuts it was disgusting. He remembers once, Alison rumoring him into giving her his own shoes after he threw up on hers. He walked home barefoot that night.

He wonders if she still has them.

Klaus hasn’t seen his siblings since he ran away. He wonders what they think happened to him, after. If they sat up waiting for him all night like when Five went missing, all huddled together in Luther’s room, idly playing _Rock Paper Scissors_ or _I Spy,_ but mostly just—waiting. And waiting. Waiting. Until the sun came up, and they went to eat breakfast when Mom rang the bell for them.

She set out a plate for Five in front of an empty chair. No one looked at each other.

Maybe now there’s two empty plates at the table when they eat meals together. Or maybe Five came back after he left, and now there’s just one, lonely chair for him that no one sits at anymore.

He thinks of his place at his new home, the chair he sits in at a table with no empty seats even without his family. A small table, cluttered newspapers and drawings and random things set out and pushed away. Three full plates, everyone talks with their mouths full and it’s okay. No monocle to stare them into silence while they eat. No annoying radio in the background. No uncomfortable Academy uniform, tie too tight around his throat while he eats, collar too high and stiff.

No siblings, either. No Luther, or Diego, or Alison, or Five, or Ben, or Vanya. Yet, anyways. No siblings _yet_. She promised she would bring them all home, but he has to help her first. She can’t do it alone.

Someday maybe he won’t celebrate his birthday without them. It’s his second since he left. He’s thirteen, now.

Klaus takes another bite of a donut—his fourth, but he’s _celebrating,_ and he does have six siblings to think of, anyways. But he can tell he’s eaten too many, because it’s not even good anymore. He feels gross, and wishes he had someone to eat donuts and get sick with.

But he doesn’t, not _really,_ not _them,_ so he just scowls at himself and takes a sip of his chocolate milk. He chokes on it, closes his eyes and forces himself to breathe.

_No. Not again, no. Go away. Go away, go away, go away._

It’s so loud.

The ghosts are right here _, so close,_ but they’re in a whole other world, too, and Klaus knows he just has to push them back to their own place. The way she explained it, there are separate planes of existence all layered on top of each other, realms that overlap. He can see each of them—or at least, two or three. And sometimes things leak through, _like sun spots winking through closed blinds on a bright, sunny mornin_ g.

He just has to pull the curtains, she says. Sometimes he also imagines the mausoleum, but they’re all locked inside and he’s safe outside, on the cold, dewy grass where they can’t touch them. Sometimes he does both. _Build up a wall to block out light, cold marble and heavy drapes. Push them away._ He hasn’t quite figured out how to, yet, not on the _big scale,_ but most of the time it helps. Most of the time he doesn’t ever see or hear this many—not since before he broke his jaw, left home. Not since—not since—

_Go away. Just close the blinds._

_Come on, Klaus._

Slowly, the noise dies down— _dies down, ugh, he’s hilarious, he can still joke, it’s okay._ He takes a deep breath, feels his shoulders ache from how stiff he’s been— _stiff, and it isn’t funny, except it is, and he’ll laugh, anyway—_ and he has to roll his shoulders so they relax. He’s okay. They’re not here—not all of them, at least.

Most of the ghosts have faded away. Some still crowd around him, but they’re quieter—like they’re waiting. _Watching_. They won’t stop staring.

They’re calmer, at least.

Not like the mausoleum. Not like that night— _He’s on the outside. Reginald isn’t here to lock him up, she would never, he’s outside and they can’t touch him, he’s safe, he’s safe—_

“Need a napkin?”

Klaus blinks.

Next to him is an old man with a white mustache and an ugly hat. He smiles at Klaus, and it makes his heart pound in his chest, his throat, his temples, loud and heavy like a warning drum. He doesn’t like the way the man looks at him, or how he sat next to him and smiled, or any of the ghosts that parade after him. His palms feel sweaty, and his mouth is dry. He licks his lips, forces himself to push it away like the ghosts.

_The ghosts,_ he thinks.

He takes a deep breath, slowly glances around and behind the man, and carefully lets the ghosts fade back to this realm.

There’s _so many_. The room is crowded. They’re _horrifying_ , and he looks quickly away, slams the thick stone door and pulls the curtain.

Klaus swallows, and a laugh bubbles up out of his throat. _Just ghosts,_ he thinks. _Just lots and lots of ghosts, because this man is_ obviously _a_ serial killer.

But he does his best and smiles at the man, anyway. He can do this. He can buy time. They know where he is. “Oh, thanks, man,” he says, and takes the napkin to wipe his face.

“Don’t worry about it, Klaus,” the man says, and Klaus stills.

_Mom is going to be so upset,_ he thinks.

“Oh, and by the way,” he says. “Duck.”

“What?”

He pushes Klaus off the chair, stands up suddenly and pulls out a gun.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it’s midnight so it counts as feb and im impatient 
> 
> so anyways here’s another chapter, yay!

Five finds him in the café that he has been secretly scouting for almost two months now. It’s probably too soon, too risky—there are too many variables. Logically, he shouldn’t go inside. Five should stay as far away from his brother as he can. It’s probably dangerous for both of them.

But he hasn’t really seen Klaus since he was eleven years old. Hardly even remembers what he looks like, now. In Vanya’s book, he runs off two weeks after Five does. He never comes home. Five never found his body in the apocalyptic wasteland he landed in as a child.

He understands why, now.

How or why the Handler managed to kidnap his kid brother, he doesn’t know. _Yet_. But he’s going to find out as soon as he can.

And he doesn’t want to wait another minute.

So Five takes a deep breath, steels himself, and walks inside the café.

Klaus sat in the same place the last time he was here, too, at the bar counter closest to the back of the store. Five had sat at a booth by the entrance, sipping his coffee and watching as his brother ate donuts and drew on napkins.

Today, he takes a seat next to Klaus. He sets the briefcase on the ground, glances over out of the side of his eye to see him— _young, he looks so young—_ with his eyes shut tight, mouth pursed in a hard frown. His fingers massage at his temples as if he has a headache. There’s chocolate milk dribbled down his chin, spilled down the front of his rainbow tie-dye hoodie.

Five casually glances around. He narrows his eyes at the customers he catches quickly looking away from him. He doesn’t like their posture, the rigid line of their shoulders. Something’s wrong.

But of course he should have predicted the Handler wouldn’t let Klaus out of her sight. She kidnapped him for _something_. It has to be important. Calculated. Otherwise, Klaus wouldn’t be here.

Apparently, he wasn’t careful enough with his surveillance. _Impulsive,_ he scolds himself. He should have waited. Gathered more information—then again, every visit here is dangerous, especially if the commission is keeping as close of an eye on him as he hopes they aren’t.

Maybe tonight was always going to be dangerous.

Five frowns, looks back towards his brother. He looks nervous. Afraid.

He’s so young.

Five clears his throat. “Need a napkin?” he asks, sliding a small pile over in front of his brother, next to the small plate he has in front of him with two and a half eaten donuts on it.

Klaus blinks. He looks at Five with wide eyes, glances around him with same expression— _definitely_ noticed the other agents, then—but quickly schools his expression into a nervously mischievous grin and laughs, just like he remembers from their childhood.

“Oh, thanks, man,” Klaus says, and doesn’t take his eyes off him as he wipes at his face.

Five smiles. “Don’t worry about it, Klaus.”

His brother stills. The grin is still there.

“Oh, and by the way— _duck.”_

“What?” Klaus says, but he doesn’t move fast enough, so Five pushes him out of the chair himself.

He takes the opportunity to pull out his gun—and just in time, too.

Figures no one else in this establishment is an actual customer.

He shoots the first person in his line of sight quickly, before they even finish fishing their own gun out of their coat. After that, he blinks to the entrance, and shoots more people in the back before they have time to turn around. He maneuvers around the entire area, shooting each one and moving on, even goes to the back to ensure he kills the cook, too.

By the time he’s done, he’s panting, covered in blood splatters. Not exactly how he wanted the night to go, but then he didn’t exactly have high hopes, either. He sighs, scrubs a hand down his face and shakes his head, turning back around—

Klaus is gone.

_Shit_.

Five didn’t see him running to leave, but there is a second exit through the kitchen, so—he grabs the briefcase, blips out to the parking lot around the back. It’s dark out, cold, and the streets are wet from a light rain earlier. A few cars sit in a line by the building, none of them running. He flashes to each one, looks inside, tries the doors. He looks inside and behind the dumpster. He turns in a slow circle, watching out for any movement, listening for something, _anything._

It’s quiet.

_Maybe he didn’t leave,_ Five thinks, and flashes back into the building. The kitchen is empty. There is no one behind the bar, or by the cash registers, or underneath any of the booths.

The men’s restroom is empty.

But the women’s—Five breaths a quiet sigh of relief when he finds Klaus crouched on the floor just inside the doorway, head bent down, arms held to his chest. He’s trembling, panting, talking desperately to thin air. A ghost, probably.

He wonders who, and decides he doesn’t care.

“A women’s restroom, Klaus?” Five asks.

Klaus yelps, flinching so hard he slams the back of his head into the wall behind him. Five drops the gun, holds his hands up, shows he has no weapons, just the briefcase—but his brother is already scrambling up off the ground and unlocking the door to run out.

“Stranger danger!” he yells, which—honestly, who does he expect to help him? That’s what Five is _there for._ And even if he wasn’t, everyone else is dead.

“Klaus, it’s me,” he says, and blips in front of him just as he’s looking back. Klaus gasps, backtracks quickly, ends up tripping over a body and landing in a pool of blood. He rolls, quickly gets on his feet again and turns to run in the opposite direction.

Five grinds his teeth, grips the briefcase tighter, and blips in front of him again—close enough for Klaus to run him right over. He falls to the ground, with Klaus on top of him, groaning in pain, but before he has a chance to do anything else, Five grabs his arm and turns.

They land in the middle of a grassy field. Klaus is gasping into his shoulder. He’s crying.

He never liked going on missions. Never liked guns, or blood, or death. Klaus has always been one of the softest of them.

And even if he wasn’t—he’s a _child_. His youth should be better than Five’s ever was. He’s going to make sure of it.

“It’s okay. You’re safe.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there won’t be very many five or other siblings’ POV but i will give you a little bit


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Panic attack is described in this chapter, i tried to do it justice but uhhhh hmmmm
> 
> i tried

Klaus’s arm _hurts._

He can’t breathe. His chest hurts, his throat—it’s—his throat is thick and tight, and—

And it’s so loud. It’s _too loud,_ they won’t stop _screaming_ , they’re everywhere, he can’t—

He’s dying. He’s dying, he’s going to become a ghost— _cold, nothing, pale and bloody and desperate and mean—_

_Breathe. Breathe, he has to breathe but he_ can’t. He’s trapped. There are too many of them, and he’s dizzy and he doesn’t think he’s at Nighthawks anymore, but that’s—he doesn’t know where he is. He can’t breathe.

Something _something_ grabs him _again, they can touch him, he’s—_ Klaus jerks away, screams, _fuck, his chest hurts and his arm is throbbing and everything is getting dark but he knows they’re everywhere, he can hear them, and the man is swallowed by them too, but he’s there, Klaus knows he’s there, he isn’t safe, he’s dying and everything hurts and the air around him is too thick, it isn’t cooperating, he can’t breathe, he’s choking_ _just like the ghosts gasping all around him—_

Go away. _Go away, go away._

He’s—he’s—Klaus leans over from where he’s hunched into himself, chokes and gags, he feels sick. It’s too sweet in the back of his throat, and acidy, and _gross_. He’s— _fuck._

Okay. Okay.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he hears Mom soothing him. She’s not here. He doesn’t think she’s here. But her voice is, and she’s calm, and he just needs to focus on her, _focus focus focus,_ oh, everything hurts.

He feels awful. He wants nothing more than to be home again, stand in the shower for so long there’s pounding at the door. He wants to slip into bed, the nice, cool, silk sheets, wants to just close his eyes and sleep. Wake up, and it’s just another of his nightmares.

He’s covered in blood. It might as well be a nightmare.

Eventually the air thins out and he gasps it in, _finally, finally, finally._ He takes open mouthfuls, feels like a fish and laughs.

Fuck. Fuck. It’s okay. He’s okay. He’s okay, he’s going to be okay, he can breathe again and it isn’t quite as—as—he doesn’t know. Intense or something awful like that.

God, he’s exhausted.

_Worst birthday ever_. 

Klaus takes another deep breath, forces himself to let it out slowly. He doesn’t want to look up and see them—he’s too tired and he doesn’t have the energy for this. But they’re _there_ and _still so loud_ and they’re _not helping._ He knows they won’t leave unless he makes them.

So he keeps his head bent, and tightens his fists even though he feels so weak and tired but he _has to_ so he _tries—_ he imagines a curtain, thick and tall and long enough to wrap around the entire space. He shuts them up inside the mausoleum, closes the heavy stone door with an imaginary wave of his hand, forces them back into their own realm where they can’t touch him.

They can’t touch him. They can’t touch him.

“You with me, Klaus?” the man says, and Klaus jumps, notices the sudden silence and how he paces around him in an angry circle. He bites his lip, tries not to whimper. His throat hurts and he doesn’t realize until then that his face is wet.

He’s in the middle of a field. He’s shivering, trembling and his muscles ache. It’s cold and wet—the fabric of his sweatpants is damp against his leg, the blood on his sweatshirt cooled down a lot. It’s still too warm, too thick, and he can smell it on his hoodie. He’s freezing. He’s not wearing anything underneath it. He left his coat back at the diner.

Klaus takes a quiet, shaky breath and looks up. The old man has stopped pacing, now, and instead he’s sitting on top of his briefcase, staring at him. He looks calm enough, studying him with a blank expression, even with the blood on his face, stained around his neck. He’s not holding any weapons. His hands are clasped loosely in his lap.

He thinks of all the fighting back at the diner, and when Klaus was hiding and running away, how the old man appeared out of nowhere. He showed up in a locked bathroom with only one door. One second, he was behind him, and the next, in front. He thinks he might have noticed a blue light out of the corner of his eye.

He knew Klaus’s name.

But—this man is so _old._ He’s _surrounded_ by ghosts, he killed people in cold blood and Klaus doesn’t know why. His hair is white, and so is his bushy mustache. He’s tall. He’s pudgy. He looks nothing like Five.

Klaus swallows. _It’s me,_ he’d said. _It’s me. You’re safe._

It can’t be Five. He doesn’t want it to be Five.

God, he hopes it’s Five.

“We need to get going.”

Klaus nods, hesitantly, opening his mouth to ask—but he _can’t_. Instead, he bites his lip and looks down again. He slowly rocks back on his heels, picking his knees up off the cold ground, and sits down properly instead, wincing. Even with his arm cradled to his chest, every movement jostles it.

He closes his eyes and sighs. He’s tired. He feels like crying. Again.

He’s covered in blood. The air smells metallic. He doesn’t want to be here.

_Worst birthday ever._

“You ready to go, then?”

Klaus clears his throat. He forces himself to look back up, study the face of the man. He thinks they have the same eye color. The same stupid grin.

_Ask,_ he thinks. _Ask._

Klaus takes a deep breath, hunches in on himself. He makes himself look the man in the eye. “Five?”

Five smiles at him, but it looks softer than earlier. His eyes crinkle—he has crows feet. He’s not eleven anymore, not even thirteen, like him. He’s old. _Old_ old.

And he’s a murderer.

“Come on. I’ll take you home.”

_Home,_ he says. _Home._

He thinks of Reginald, and the mausoleum and—and _everything._ The missions, the trainings. The fear. Even his siblings—as much as he desperately wants to see them, he _really doesn’t want to see them_. How would they react, to him being gone?

Would they be angry at him for leaving? Or mad at him for escaping and coming back _two years later?_ For him not helping with missions or not going through training like they used to? Or annoyed that he’s finally starting to get a grasp on his powers, when he couldn’t for them? He doesn’t know what to think. He doesn’t know what _they’ll_ think. Maybe they all moved on.

And what about Dad? Klaus can imagine it now—punishment. An explanation, and he doesn’t have one. And he doesn’t—he _can’t—he can’t, no, no, please, no—_

Mom—mom, though. The Handler, not _Mom_ Mom—she wouldn’t be angry. She might ground him, tell him it’s too dangerous, but maybe he agrees and the punishment won’t be bad. She’ll kiss him on the forehead, wipe the blood off his face, and wrap his arm for him. She’ll tell him to go shower, and go to bed, and they’ll talk in the morning.

Klaus swallows. He doesn’t want to leave.

“Which home, Five?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah i don’t really like this chapter, esp the beginning like idk what i was doing 
> 
> but im posting it anyway 
> 
> also it’s noon. i usually put shit up at midnight but good afternoon ig xoxo

**Author's Note:**

> I think there’s another ‘the Handler kidnaps Klaus’ AU but I haven’t read it yet! i reallyyyyy want to, but im gonna try to get this done more first :) 
> 
> also i found that one after id written up to chapter five of this and very nearly didnt publish it...but i like to read the same damn fics over and over again so i figured why not  
> that + no self control + my unrelenting need for praise and a sense of accomplishment means ur getting part of this now 
> 
> yay! 
> 
> ps—schedule for this is the same as exit music, so like once a month until I run out of chapters or reach burnout or finish the fic—whatever happens first!
> 
> xoxox thanks for reading lmao sorry for spamming the notes i love you guys, I missed you xoxoxoxo


End file.
